1 week Ago By Mid-day
Three weeks in, I can say with some certainty that being a second-time mom is a major upgrade from the first time around. You get to harness the wealth of your experiences, all the lessons you learned from the mistakes you made, the vast registry of intuitions you evolved that sit inside your body in the shape of maternal wisdom. This ‘do-over’ feels like an opportunity to right past wrongs and to tune into your arsenal of maternal remedies.
When I returned home from hospital with our first, I felt like I had to be a caregiver without a manual, like I had missed an initiation ritual. This time around I felt like I had this repository of mental postpartum notes I could refer to, a whole vocabulary of intuitive responses, ‘gut feelings’ that had been validated and approved.This doesn’t mean I haven’t fallen apart in the last 21 days.
Near-constant breastfeeding coupled with adjusting to a new sleep routine can cripple the most emotionally tensile of us. But in the moments when the brief feels colossal, I know that the overburdened feeling is temporary, ephemeral, fleeting. That every perceived challenge is in fact a ladder towards the next milestone.
Like when our infant cluster feeds, it’s a sure sign he’s going through a growth spurt.The biggest difference between my first postpartum experience and this ongoing one, however, is the setting in which it is unfolding. When I was being discharged, the gynaecologist signing the papers issued a string of directives.
The one that stood out was her telling me to move a lot. She said there is a prevailing belief that after a C-section, one should rest at home. She said I should do the contrary: go outside and move.
Movement would be healing for my body. Go outside for walks with your child, she said. Whatever you do, don’t stay at home in bed.
Carrying weight was not recommended, but movement was prescribed as free elixir.Thankfully, because this time around it’s been relatively smooth sailing with my milk supply, from around 1 pm until 5 pm, I stay outdoors. I go for long walks and then catch up with my partner and our toddler.
I’m a pro at feeding in the carrier, which guarantees better mobility. It’s felt like a game-changer: being outside in this spring weather, watching the various varieties of apple burst into white blossoms, seeing the mountains transform hues from winter’s bare browns to spring’s radiant greens, witnessing the oleander readying for summer. Our toddler regularly gifts me bouquets of hand-plucked dandelion and watches alongside in awe as the vineyards sprout new shoots.
In this improved scenario, the fact of early motherhood feels ensconced within larger realities and doesn’t feel like something exceptional that I’m undertaking or undergoing in the privacy of my home. It is less domestic, more public. I’m unabashed about feeding wherever I need to, at cafes, parks and restaurants, and don’t feel anxiety when my infant announces his hunger with a cry.
Instead of feeling apologetic about entering a space with an infant, I come bearing expectations that the adults surrounding us have the emotional bandwidth to hold themselves when confronted with normal newborn behaviour. A spectacular development over the last three years is how fluent I have become not just in German and Italian, but in asking for help when I need it. I do not feel like I need to be the sole custodian of our infant.
I have learned to prioritise my needs and to do whatever is within the scope of possibility to ensure my mental wellbeing. Approaching the vocation of caregiving from this precipice of security and sure-footedness—assuredly a byproduct of my feminist proclivities—makes it so much more enjoyable, lacing it in a kind of enchanted armour. Raising a child in a country like Italy which is encountering its lowest birth rates ever is an interesting experience.
You make do with whatever the state doles out as support—most of it financial, which is meant to disguise the absence of more robust forms. If I were a citizen and had a steady job, I would have had access to longer maternity leave. I have made do with these three weeks that I have given myself.
On Monday, I resume my remote work as an editor. In three weeks, I will begin teaching the Gender Equality seminar in the university, and in all likelihood, I will be taking our infant to class with me, and breastfeeding while we discuss concepts like privilege, shame, equity, girl boss feminism, auto theory and various forms of emancipation. My partner will be present after an hour of class to take the baby for a stroll if he happens to sleep, after he will have dropped off our toddler to day care.
I am excited to demonstrate to my new batch of university students what co-parenting looks like in action, what it means to metabolise your circumstances and to have a hand in designing the conditions in which one can thrive.Deliberating on the life and times of every woman, Rosalyn D’Mello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover. She posts @rosad1985 on InstagramSend your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.
comThe views expressed in this column are the individual’s and don’t represent those of the paper..
